


The Sign of the Boar

by enfantdelamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enfantdelamer/pseuds/enfantdelamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Song of Ice and Fire/Sherlock Holmes crossover.</p>
<p>Jaime Lannister, working as a private investigator with his brother Tyrion, finds himself embroiled in multiple mysteries. The problem? The mystery of the woman with those astonishing blue eyes, and his growing fascination with her, is definitely not what he was hired for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sign of the Boar

The rainy afternoon in King’s Landing had shifted into a gray twilight, full of gloomy fog, by the time Tyrion Lannister saw what, or rather who, he had been looking for. He rolled his shoulders, muttered “Took him long enough,” and continued gazing at the street through the window while playing a child-sized violin that would have looked ridiculous on any grown man. But then, as so many were wont to remind him, Tyrion Lannister was no grown man.  
  
The door to his apartment banged open, but Tyrion gave no indication that he noticed his companion, choosing instead to keep wheedling notes out of the violin without any real passion. It was only when the other man in the room began pushing papers about, shoving aside books, and opening and slamming cabinet doors that Tyrion said,  
  
“It’s not there, you know.”  
  
“What?” said the man brusquely.  
  
“The whiskey. You drank it all last time,” Tyrion said, and he finally turned around to face his brother, whose golden hair in disarray and misbuttoned coat betrayed a certain amount of dishevelment.  
  
Jaime squinted at Tyrion, and then his face pulled back into his customary smirk. “And who’s to say I’m looking for the whiskey? What if it’s the wine?”  
  
“Nonsense,” said Tyrion. “You’ve had more than plenty of it at our dear sister’s”--  
  
“What?”  
  
“And how is she doing? I always thought prison was the most natural place for her.”  
  
“She’s not exactly ‘in prison’,” said Jaime while still rummaging around the bookcase, finding plenty of bottles but none that contained what he was looking for. “It’s only house arrest. And how do you do that? How did you know that I was with her? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” His eyes focused on Tyrion, who was wearing the same clothes from the night before. “What have you been doing today? Have you even left the house?”  
  
“Of course not. I have been working on an excellent folk song from the Eyrie.”  
  
“Still bored, then?” Jaime said, flicking a glance over at Tyrion’s desk, piled high with correspondence, dusty books, and the odd vial.  
  
“I can’t help it, can I? There are no cases in King’s Landing, and the newspaper has been parlously empty of any murders--I suppose I’ll have to thank your work with the Kingsguard for that.”  
  
“I haven’t done anything, I think they’ve just done a better job of preventing news from escaping. Isn’t there an entire desk over there full of letters from people begging you for help?”  
  
“Begging us for help, but they’re not challenging!” Tyrion said, and at this he hopped down from the ottoman and walked over to the desk, picking up a letter. “One about a lost kitten”--  
  
“A request from the king”--  
  
“Who is a ten-year-old and my nephew, I think we both know fully well the kitten is hiding in the palace,” Tyrion said, flipping the letter down dismissively. “One from a girl utterly bemused by receiving jewelry from an anonymous source--sounds as if she is facing her first admirer, how positively scintillating--and another from a wife who insists that we prove that her husband is not cheating on her.”  
  
“And, of course, he is.”  
  
“Naturally,” said Tyrion as he pushed aside the last letter and flopped on the burgundy chaise. “Gods but I’m bored! It’s worse than when Varys will take ten minutes to say what could be said in two.”  
  
“Come visit Cersei with me sometime,” Jaime suggested and, at Tyrion’s practically involuntary shudder (whether due to Jaime’s always controversial relationship with their sister or their sister herself, Jaime could not entirely be sure), continued with, “you know Father would be pleased.”  
  
He spied another bottle behind a golden lion statue and sprang for it, realizing in the next moment that it was empty.  
  
“Yes, because that has always meant so much to me,” said Tyrion, steepling his fingers. “No, visiting Cersei would not help anything. She doesn’t even help you--here you are, still searching for whiskey even though I just told you there was none left. You’re hoping that it will help you forget how awful this visit was because what you did the last three times. Never mind that you’ve already had plenty of wine with her.”  
  
Stiffening, Jaime said in too deliberately-measured tones: “Careful, now, before you sound jealous.”  
  
“Jealous?” Tyrion retorted, finally deciding to say what he had thought of Jaime’s visits ever since they began. “Look at you, you’re a mess! You look like you were robbed on the way back. Every time you leave to see her, you might as well be a puppy that still thinks it’s going to get a treat at the end, but you always come back disappointed--hence the whiskey--because she will never, ever admit that she was wrong! Is this some bizarre act of charity, of honor, that you’re trying to do?”  
  
“That’s enough,” said Jaime, his green eyes glinting dangerously, but Tyrion resolutely went on.  
  
“I just don’t understand why you’d want to spend time with her because I can’t imagine that any of her more charming qualities have gotten any better since going to prison”--  
  
“It’s house arrest,” Jaime gritted through his teeth, “and I’m beginning to feel like I’m in a similar situation with all of this questioning and scolding. Enjoy your evening.”  
  
Before Tyrion could try to appease him with an offer to go to the newest restaurant and then to The Little Finger Beckoned (although he had to admit that last excursion was more for his brothel tastes than any brotherly inclinations), Jaime stormed out the door. Its sign, reading “Tyrion and Jaime Lannister: Private Investigators” in golden letters, clanged against the door, but Jaime paid it no heed as he strode down the street, searching for just the thing to distract him from how impossibly frustrating both of his siblings were.  
  
**  
  
The evening in King’s Landing had gotten much colder than usual, but by the time Jaime had stumbled into the crowded basement in the south side of town, he was no longer aware of the chill, the whiskey from some nondescript establishment filling his stomach and his breath. The stench of testosterone and sweat hung heavy in the air, while a heady mix of jeers, cheers, and bets being shouted at the never-easily-overwhelmed barman added an auditory mantle of warmth. He went into the coat room, shaking off his cloak and ripping off his shirt, and made his slightly unsteady way to the makeshift ring, where two men, obviously amateurs judging by the sloppiness of their jabs and kicks, attempted to box on the dirt floor. Motioning to the referee that he wished to go next (of course there would be no question of waiting since he was a Lannister; after all), he began to inspect the other men surrounding the ring, his next opponents. And yet he still could not be distracted--  
  
 _“I’ve heard things about you and our cousin Lancel.”_  
  
 _“Where did you hear that?” she said, her dark eyes piercing against the sunshine coils of her hair. There was no question in her voice, only nonchalance._  
  
 _“Never mind that,” he said evenly. Reaching for her arm, he gazed directly into her eyes, probing for a reality that was at least as hurtful as her deception. “I just want to know the truth.”_  
  
His first opponent, thoroughly cowed and all of sixteen years of age, half-heartedly threw a jab at Jaime before looking horrified at himself for attempting to fight one of the most infamous, if not necessarily respected, of the Kingsguard. A quick kick to the lungs, a punch to the shoulder, and a clap on the temples, all occurring in a blur even with, or perhaps because of, his drunken aim, was enough to declare Jaime the winner and to send that opponent limping out the door. Jaime could hear a victorious crowing--ostensibly someone who had bet well on him.  
  
 _“The truth?” she shrieked, ripping her arm away from his gentle grasp. “The truth is that you were away in the North for months. Months, Jaime! And who returns to me six months ago? Someone who works with my imp of a brother to throw me in prison!”  
  
_ _Jaime was silent, and then murmured, “You know I have to do my job.”_  
  
The second man was taller and rounder than the first; in fact, he was very close to Jaime’s 6’2”. Red-faced and perhaps half as drunk as Jaime, he chortled to his friends and slapped their hands good-naturedly. It was perhaps that which inspired Jaime to base most of this fight on slapping the wits out of the man, finally spinning him around and pinning him on the ground. Groggily nodding defeat, the man crawled out on all fours, all while asking his friends to take him to the Atheon Bar, the closest pub.  
  
 _“Some great love!” she sneered, looking thoroughly repelled by her tall gilded brother, tense like a stag waiting for an attack. “I could not even count on you to be my champion in court”--_  
  
 _“I would have never wanted you to be in a situation where you needed me.”_  
  
 _Contorting the beautiful, sculptured planes of her face in unbridled anger, she hurled two words._  
  
 _“Get out.”_  
  
“Please get in here, my lord.”  
  
Jaime lurched, slightly out of breath and a little bruised, towards Pyrseis, the young referee who had overseen most of his matches since he had begun fighting there six months before.  
  
“My lord, are you--are you quite well?”  
  
Jaime did his best to focus on Pyrseis. “Oh, yes. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
Pyrseis could distinctly smell the alcohol, which was unusual for Jaime when boxing, and he said skeptically, “If you’re sure. Your next opponent is over there.”  
  
He pointed at a tall, slightly clumsy-looking young man across the ring. Nervousness radiated off his skin, gleaming like marble and looking oddly clean compared to everyone else in the establishment, and he tapped his foot quickly while talking to a young lady just outside the ring. Jaime squinted at the lady, who looked entirely too youthful, well-bred, and delicately pretty to be in the basement, and he tried to remember where he had seen her and her dark red hair and blue eyes before. He shook his head--he didn’t remember, and the anxous young man next to her, with his brittle white-blond hair and patchy beard, certainly didn’t help in discerning her identity. Catching Jaime’s glance at the two of them, the red-haired girl whispered again to the young man, tapping his shoulder reassuringly. The man gulped, but he steadily walked to the center of the ring and stiffly bowed to Jaime.  
  
Jaime smiled slightly at the man’s nervousness, already imagining the inevitable defeat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, slick with sweat, and hunkered down in the ready position.  
  
 _Clang!_ went the bell, and Jaime struck first, sending a graceful jab at the man’s neck and veering out of the way of the man’s retaliatory swing. Thrusting his leg upward for the man’s armpit, Jaime was shocked when the man swerved neatly out of the way and landed a punch, a hard one, too, on his shoulder. Jaime grabbed the man’s stomach and lunged him towards the edge of the ring, huffing at the difficulty of pushing 6’3” of muscle, but the other man, with a grunt, flung Jaime away. With one--two--three smacks, Jaime found himself on the ground, scrabbling in the dirt and rising to to his feet again.  
  
“Who are you?” His curiosity pushed the question out of its own accord, but the man knocked him down again. Before the man could tell him to yield, Jaime elbowed him in the face and watched in shock as half the man’s beard seemed to wipe away. His eyes darted about the man’s face, marveling at its smoothness, which seemed to continue all the way down his neck with no indication of the customary knot in a man’s throat--  
  
“Yield,” the man threatened, and Jaime nearly jolted away at the voice.  
  
“Why,” he said in surprise, “you’re nothing but a gi”--  
  
For an instant, Jaime saw a glimmer of panic in his foe’s eyes. But in the next moment, the same foe pummeled him, and his vision flashed to black.  
  
In flashes and instants, Jaime was vaguely aware of being dragged away from the ring, the angry yells from the people that had presumably bet on him, the pounding in his head, his shame and his begrudging respect for his opponent. He shivered involuntarily as he was brought outside, King's Landing cold and eerie at night in this section of town, and abruptly he was thrown into a carriage.  
  
Groaning, he struggled to open his eyes, seeing the pretty red-haired girl and his blonde opponent, only slightly less masculine without the beard, sitting across from him and looking at him sternly.  
  
“Where are you taking me?” he said, and he tried to crack a smirk. “If you had wanted to have your way with me, all you had to do was ask.”  
  
The blonde merely scowled at him, while the red-haired girl said, “We’re taking you home. Do be quiet.”  
  
“A threesome, then? It would be my pleasure, but you haven’t even said please,” he said in a low, teasing voice as he inched his hand towards the door handle.  
  
The blonde scoffed. “This is all business, and we’re taking you to your home. Please stop trying to leave.”  
  
“My home? Do you even know where it is”--  
  
The blonde didn’t even waste a glance at him but instead turned to the coachman at the front, saying, “221 Casterly, Rockingham. And quickly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Do let me know what you think in the comments--this is my first fanfiction, as well as my first story with primarily male POV, and I love feedback at least as much as Cersei loves wine.


End file.
